


Everything You Want

by falsteloj



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Community: Whitechapel kink meme, First Time, Kink Meme, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Middle Aged Virgins, One Shot Collection, Police, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few oneshots inspired by prompts over at the Whitechapel kink meme. Kent/Chandler because Kent pines so prettily.</p><p>1. Having given up the notion of Chandler ever loving him back, Kent decides to put an end to his blind adoration and move on. This catches Joe's eye. [G]<br/>2. <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/907077/chapters/1755884">Kent topping.</a> [T]<br/>3. <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/907077/chapters/1758582">Even Riley's kids think Chandler and Kent should be together.</a> [G]<br/>4. <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/907077/chapters/1936694">Kent is afraid he will give in to the darkness.</a> [G]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Chandler/Kent - Having given up the notion of Chandler ever loving him back, Kent decides to put an end to his blind adoration and move on. This catches Joe's eye. 
> 
> [ http://whitechapel-itv.livejournal.com/47602.html?thread=639730#t639730 ]

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the guy, because there wasn't.

He was funny, and friendly, and good looking in a tousled, indie sort of way. Exactly the kind of way he would have gone starry eyed for before DI Joseph Chandler walked into the incident room and told them all they were a bunch of unwashed slovens.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Davey said then, all lop sided grin, and Kent glanced up from shredding the label off his bottle to offer a nervous smile before looking down again.

He wished he was somewhere else, anywhere else.

The silence stretched, awkward and uncomfortable. Hannah had talked him up to get this date arranged, he knew. She had made him out to be the catch of the century. The truth hung heavy in the air between them, until Kent could hardly stand it.

He wished that he was someone else.

Someone who was suave, and clever, and confident. Someone good enough to be worth trying for. Or else someone who could talk, and joke, and invite Davey back to the flat like his chest didn't clench up at the mere idea. At the admission that what he most wanted was never, ever going to happen.

"It was really nice to meet you," Davey told him after the bare minimum amount of time had passed, and an obviously arranged phone call saved both of them from the situation becoming even more disastrous. "I'll give you a call tomorrow."

He wouldn't, of course, but Kent nodded his head, and forced a smile, and buried his face in his hands when Hannah slid into Davey's vacated seat and said, too knowing,

"Just forget about him, he doesn't deserve you."

It was the same speech he heard through his bedroom wall whenever she had her old university friends over, and still it succeeded in hitting all the wrong places. Chandler - Joe - deserved everything. Aloud he managed,

"I'm trying."

Hannah sighed, bought him a new bottle with a pristine label, and repeated his own arguments back to him, just like he had asked her to.

"It couldn't work. He's your boss. There's too much of an age gap. He's probably straight." There was a stress on that last which said she didn't believe it. Before he could protest she added her own argument, the only one that she thought had any real bearing,

"He wouldn't treat you right. He's already proven it."

Kent wanted to argue, to tell her that it wasn't Joe's fault. Not for thinking that he was on the Kray's payroll, and not for blaming him for Morgan's death. He didn't, because deep down perhaps even he himself was unable to believe it.

"We could go into town," Hannah suggested. "Get plastered."

To his mortification his eyes stung, and he tried to swallow around the lump that formed in his throat. He was pathetic, it was no wonder Joe could scarcely bear to speak to him.

Hannah put a hand on his arm, picked up her handbag.

"Come on, let's go home. There's a tub of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer that needs eating."

* * *

It couldn't go on like this, Kent knew. He had to move on. Had to stop waiting and hoping and dreaming.

He thought it as he lay in bed the night after his dreadful blind date, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling, and the Argos prints he had bought to replace his blu-tacked posters, just in case the impossible ever happened and Joe Chandler stepped foot inside his bedroom.

He thought it again at work, his gaze slipping over and over to the glass walls of the DI's office. His heart clenching every time their eyes met, only for Joe to look hastily away again, and his stomach flipping every time Joe spoke to him, though his tone was clipped and short, even when Kent could see no good reason for it.

They had almost been friends once. Joe - DI Chandler - had praised him, and smiled at him, and ran to his side at the hospital, as though, at least in some small way, Emerson Kent really did matter to him.

Now Chandler only seemed to acknowledge his existence when it was absolutely necessary, and Kent reminded himself of that fact, viciously, whenever his resolve threatened to fail him. He stopped staying late every night at the office, stopped trying to impress, stopped a hundred other things in favour of feeling numb, or else feeling so sick and so listless he hadn't the energy to feel much of anything.

He should have known better to have fallen for a superior officer anyway, should have known better than to believe there was any hope of reciprocation. It was his fault that the job he had loved was becoming a penance, as surely as it was his fault Morgan Lamb had been left alone, defenceless.

Riley was the first to notice, predictably, and rubbed at his arm in a motherly sort of fashion and told him that he needed to put it behind him, and that he was going to find a lovely guy, somebody who really appreciated him.

"Why do I still keep hoping?" Kent asked, sounding far more desperate than he had meant to.

"Oh, sweetheart," Riley soothed in place of an answer.

There was no answer.

Miles clapped him on the back after a particularly long day of Joe staring at him without uttering a word, and told him that he was better off out of it, because the DI would be a royal pain in the arse to be with - and not in the way he was hoping for. Kent blushed, so hard the tips of his ears started burning, and Mansell laughed heartily and reminded him about the bash he was having for his birthday.

"I'm going to personally see to it you get blind drunk," Mansell said, and Kent pretended he couldn't see the pity in the man's eyes. He hadn't lost all of his dignity.

* * *

Kevin went as his plus one, not because they were dating, but because Kevin didn't have anything better to do and Hannah said it would make Joe see what he was missing. Kevin would also make sure he didn't drown his sorrows in drink until he choked on his own vomit in a gutter, if only because finding a new flatmate would be so much hassle.

"He's not my type," was the first thing Kevin said when they got there, and though he didn't show it, Kent couldn't help the white hot flash of jealousy. Just at the idea of having yet more competition. "She's not bad though."

Kent followed his line of vision to some distant Mansell cousin, and glared at Kevin as he hissed,

"You're supposed to be with me, remember."

It was only natural, given his usual allocation of good luck, that Chandler should have moved to be standing behind them. Kent grimaced a smile, by no means blind to the tight clench of his boss's jaw as he scurried past them.

He should have known the plan would turn out to be an unmitigated disaster.

The night only went from bad to worse, because Kevin sat them at a table with Joe and Miles, and proceeded to overact to the point that Kent felt obliged to send Joe apologetic glances every few minutes. He knew that public displays of affection made the man uncomfortable. Kevin hissed that he was only trying to help him, and Kent sagged with relief when his flatmate finally disappeared, no doubt to get the number of the girl he had earlier been ogling.

They ended up on the dance floor, swaying under the influence of the heavily subsidised bar the Mansell family had laid on for the occasion. For his part Kent fiddled with his mobile and prayed silently for the floor to open up and swallow him. His life surely couldn't get any more humiliating.

Except, of course, it could.

Riley had dragged Miles onto the dance floor, and Chandler took the opportunity to move to the seat next to him. Kent looked up at him, a thousand fanciful scenarios crossing his mind, and then Chandler was speaking, voice quiet and concerned,

"I know it isn't my place," Chandler began, hesitant, long elegant fingers twisting at his ever present elastic band, "but you oughtn't to put up with that kind of behaviour. You deserve better."

Kent blinked, confused, and then it was all too obvious because the awkwardly spoken words were lifted straight from some course or another, and he supposed he looked like just the type of bloke whose other half would up and ditch him at a colleague's birthday party.

Chandler pushed on, oblivious, "If you need to talk to someone I - that is, we." He paused, clearly discomfited. "I can make an appointment for you with a counsellor."

It had been a long day, a long week in fact. A long week at the end of long painful months of trying to make sense of the mess in his head. Of trying to come to terms with the fact he had wished an innocent woman dead for coming so close to getting everything he had ever wanted. The strain made him too sharp, too transparent, and he pushed his chair back in a rush.

"He's not my boyfriend." He grabbed his jacket, tugged it on in a vicious movement, suddenly desperate for fresh air. "I don't need a counsellor."

He didn't look back. He wouldn't let himself.

* * *

"I've been told I'm not the most tactful person."

Kent didn't turn around, and he wasn't surprised when Chandler took a step forward, and then another, until they were both stood at the balcony looking out onto the social club's playing field.

When the silence began to stretch Chandler was the one to break it, tone painfully earnest as he said, "I've been worried about you. You've," he hesitated, as though searching for the right words, "You've not been yourself lately."

"I'm sorry," Kent managed, little more than a whisper, and held onto the bar in front of him with a death grip. He was sorry - sorry for losing his temper, sorry for bringing Kevin, sorry for agreeing to attend in the first place. Sorry for everything.

"No -" Chandler shook his head, frustrated, and Kent turned to look at him for the first time, their eyes meeting in the moonlight. " _I'm_ sorry. You were doing your job. I should have handled the situation more professionally."

For long moments Kent was silent, processing the apology. It must have taken a lot. Almost without his conscious input he found himself returning Chandler's honesty, voicing his own confession,

"I was jealous."

He swallowed, desperate to be free of his secrets now that he had started. "She didn't know you. I wanted you to understand that. I wanted you to see past her."

It was out in the open now. He would have to apply for a transfer, should have done it weeks ago. He let go of the metal bar of the balcony, his fingers stiff and cramped. He needed to go home, needed to get away -

Tentative fingers touched his shoulder, rooting him to the spot more effectively than any words could have.

"I know," Chandler said, sounding breathless. "I wasn't ready to deal with it."

His heart pounded in his chest, hope warring with his sense of self-preservation.

Chandler pressed imperceptibly closer, eyes fixed on his own.

"I thought I had left it too late to do anything about it."

Kent didn't move, frozen in desperate anticipation. He didn't dare risk breaking the moment, just as he didn't dare believe that the words meant what he wanted them to.

Chandler offered him a self-concious smile, realising that he would have to be the one to make the leap. The fingers at his shoulder moved to brush against his cheek, and Kent trembled, eyelids falling shut as Chandler laid the truth bare between them.

"I could't offer to listen; I didn't think I could do it impartially. I was jealous."

"My head's a mess," Kent murmured, so that there would be no lingering untruths. Chandler wrapped his arms about him, proving that he trusted him. That he was worth trusting.

"We'll make the perfect pair then, won't we?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	2. PWP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Chandler/Kent with Kent topping please, thx.
> 
> [ http://whitechapel-itv.livejournal.com/47602.html?thread=733938#t733938 ]

When he had first started imagining it, it was always Chandler who took the initiative. Chandler who pressed him back against his office wall, and Chandler who worked a hand between them, touching him and tasting him until Kent was panting and desperate.

He would wake up aching and breathless alone in his own bed, or else he would look down at his desk, cheeks flushed, and tell himself over and over that the images in his head were completely and utterly impossible.

It never made the slightest bit of difference.

Because Chandler chose him above the rest of the team when he needed assistance, and offered him smiles which transformed his face and made Kent's stomach twist and his heart stutter.

"I really am sorry," Chandler said in the aftermath of the Kray debacle. "I should have trusted you. I'm - I'm not good with people."

Kent accepted the apology, knuckled down and worked harder than ever. Lingered later and later in the evenings, and came to realise that as hurt and as offended as he had been, Chandler was the one who had truly made himself vulnerable.

It was there in the scent of the Tiger Balm that hung in the air, tormenting him long after he had left the office, and it was there in the way Chandler couldn't meet his eyes after revealing just how completely his demons controlled him.

"We have nothing to fear from the dead," Chandler told him quietly, driving them away from the crossroads. "The real terrors are in our own minds."

The fantasy began to shift then, slowly, until it was he who took charge of the situation. He who pressed Chandler back against the bed, and he who kissed and sucked and worshipped, until Chandler couldn't keep still nor quiet, begging him to continue.

He tried to banish the idea, tried to rid himself of the hopeless attraction completely. Chandler could have anyone he wanted, he thought, and it was only later, much later, when Chandler's embarrassed silence gave him away during a childish game of dares meant to make a stake out marginally more tolerable, that the truth made his palms sweat and his head spin every time he thought about it.

"I've never," Chandler confirmed awkwardly the night they stood on the precipice of no return, looking away. "I never thought I'd want to."

Kent couldn't get enough air, couldn't help but take a step closer to the other man. Chandler was nervous, uncertain, and it only served to enflame him further, force him to press a hand against himself for a moment of relief.

Chandler let himself be led, surrendered control of everything but the elastic band around his wrist, breath hitching as Kent's fingers worked their way down the buttons of his shirt. Kent did his best to be slow, to be careful, but he couldn't bite back his reaction to having Chandler laid out beneath him, couldn't help but shake and tremble and spill all of his own secrets.

"I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted you for so long. I want, oh, please, let me."

It was better than anything he'd ever known, for all that they had scarcely done anything. It was new - for Chandler, terrifyingly new - and Kent shivered as he sucked at Chandler's neck, explored the skin of his chest, his every nerve alive, because his fantasies had never come close to the perfection of the reality.

Chandler gasped and groaned, fingers flying to his hair though his touch was gentle, restless rather than guiding, and when Kent wrapped his mouth around him Chandler bucked up from the bed, lost in a flood of sensation.

Kent swallowed, refusing to let up, the fingers of one hand splayed against Chandler's hip, his other working frantically at himself. He was too worked up, too desperate, and he shuddered when he came, mouth hanging open.

He didn't push when it was over, contented himself with pressing his lips to the skin of Chandler's cheek. Chandler met his gaze, eyes soft and awed and grateful, and linked their fingers together.

"I didn't know," Chandler confessed, voice little more than a whisper. "I didn't know it would be like that."

Kent smiled, every bit as adoring and lovesick as he had in his very first imagingings, and said,

"That was nothing - wait until next time."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Even Riley's kids think Chandler and Kent should be together.
> 
> [ http://cs-whitewolf.livejournal.com/358892.html?thread=5289708#t5289708 ]

"I want to be a bridesmaid," Kate says, with all the authority a nine year old can muster. "Ellie Davies has been a bridesmaid three times."

"Has she?" Meg asks, humouring, and dishes up three plates full of mash and fish fingers.

Kate refuses to let the matter be dismissed so easily. She talks about posies and ballet slippers in the bathtub, and about bridesmaid dresses and tiaras all the way through the school run.

The following Friday evening Meg pins the latest drawing of frilled dresses and curled hair to the front of the fridge-freezer, and explains kindly that for Kate to be a bridesmaid, Mum first needs to meet a man worth marrying.

Kate frowns, tells her not to be so silly.

"All I need is to find someone who is going to get married."

Over the next few weeks Meg apologises to the hairdresser, and cries with laughter at the look on Miles' face when Kate asks Judy if she's ever thought of marrying someone else.

The search is proving fruitless, and Meg is quietly hopeful that the end of this particular phase is nearing. At least she is until Miles hosts an anniversary barbecue and Kate sits, unnaturally still and thoughtful, as Kent fetches and carries and hovers at Chandler's shoulder, beaming fit to split his face when the boss thanks him with a few quiet words.

"Did you have a good time today?" Meg asks later, when she's getting Ryan ready for bed and Kate's choosing which book she wants them to read this evening.

"I did," she says, predictably choosing a book with a princess like bride on the cover. "Your boss likes me, doesn't he?"

The question comes from nowhere, as far as Meg can see, but she nods and assures Kate that, yes, of course he does. Kate grins, satisfied, and tells her matter of factly,

"That's good. Tell him when he marries Emerson I won't mind being their bridesmaid."

There isn't an answer for that, not really, and Kate can only try and hide her smile and wait to tell the others that if it's that obvious to a nine year old, the pair of them can only need a gentle shove in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	4. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from midnightbluebelle via tumblr - Kent trying not to go bad. 400 word ficlet.

"What _is_ wrong with you today?" Miles asks, with a mixture of fatherly concern and childish irritation, and Kent has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the acerbic remark on the tip of his tongue from pushing its way out into the open.

He doesn't understand himself sometimes; the black moods, and the horrific, twisted thoughts he wishes never occurred to him. The flashes of dark, menacing anger so intense they frighten him.

They're not him, he thinks, not the real him.

They can't be.

Miles leads the way up the path and bangs the door, warning him with a look that he had better let him do the talking.

A woman answers, makes them tea and repeats to Miles exactly what it was she saw from her sixth floor window. Kent nods his head in thanks when its time to leave, and she gazes at him, considering, for a long moment before pressing a cool black stone into his hand.

"Bloody nutters," Miles complains once they're outside, eyeing up the small stone suspiciously. Kent takes a moment simply to look at it, and despite the humid weather feels a chill run down his spine in recognition.

His favourite Aunt had been a psychic, and he can still remember her explaining the properties of various stones and crystals, and how they could act as protection.

Erica had been the one to push for more, because she had always been the more confident of the two of them. He had sat and watched quietly with his mother as his aunt took a tea cup from Erica's fingers, and smiled brightly as she told her of all the wonderful impressions she got of her future.

It had been his turn then, and his stomach twists again at the memory of the blood draining from his aunt's face. The tight press of her lips and the trembling of her fingers as she tried to laugh it off, and pretend that she wasn't able to tell anything from the leaves clinging stubbornly to the saucer.

Kent knows that she saw it though, inside him, and when they arrive back at the station he clutches the stone tightly as he follows Miles to the incident room. The future his aunt saw isn't definite, he tells himself, just as he has a thousand times before.

He doesn't have to give in to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


End file.
